Dance of the Mockingbird
by Skryr
Summary: A short little oneshot I wrote a while back and forgot to publish. From the perspective of Mockingbird, set in the last few chapters. Mockingbird / unrequited Shiro.


DANCE OF THE MOCKINGBIRD

Disclaimer: I don't own Deadman Wonderland. If you didn't already know.

Well, I'm back! I discovered that I rather liked the feel of 'And the Woodpecker Was Happy', so I decided to do another DW story.

This one's about Hagire / Mockingbird. Enjoy!

* * *

The Mockingbird walked the desecrated halls with a strange purpose. He, if he could be called a man any longer, was both confused and fascinated by the turn of events. Once, when he had been called Hagire Shinichiro, he had dreamt of a day in which the Wretched Egg could be revived.

And it appeared that his dream had been fulfilled in the conception of Shiro, the "immune experiment." Though he was not a one for emotions, deeming them merely a chemical response, he admitted even to himself that he felt pride for his creation.

Even death had been part of his conquest. He had successfully taken over a boy that had once been known as Toto Sakigami, and had since proven quite useful in the following work that was to be done.

Though the man cared for names in a similar manner (that is to say, not at all), the title of the 'Mockingbird' struck him as ironic, almost humorous. As a mockingbird imitated the cries and calls of its neighboring cousins, so too did the man emulate the dreams of those around him. The Wretched Egg was only the beginning, he was sure. Soon, all he could imagine would become reality, transformed into fruition by way of Shiro's power.

Despite the interference of Igarashi Ganta, the sniveling fool, the Mockingbird knew that Shiro was more than a match for him. With the pain that had been inflicted on her, all the betrayal she had endured, there was a guarantee that Ganta would be simply another insect to crush beneath the heel of the Wretched Egg.

Perhaps that was why the Mockingbird was so interested with Shiro. She truly was the epitome of his ambition, his gift of guilt back into the world. She was the weapon that could end anything and everything. Perhaps that was why the Mockingbird loved her.

It was a strange thing, even in the midst of other very strange things. The Mockingbird had never considered such an emotion, merely sentimental ignorance it was deemed, but what had changed?

One hundred percent interest, he had cited. Surely that was the extent of his "feelings"? No. In the fragments of his mind, the Mockingbird knew that it was something much more complicated and unfathomable than even he could know.

He arrived at a large hole in the center of the halls, where a view that could rival any other the world could offer stood, proud and agape in his eyes. The remains of the city after the effective destruction of his Deadman Wonderland lay before him, and he smiled at the spectacle.

Such a brilliant plan, ripe for the reaping at last. How long he had toiled, labored in secret, even, to attain this moment. All that remained was destroying the last monument to humanity's stupidity, a monument that the Mockingbird assured himself would be toppled by Shiro herself.

The Woodpecker. A strange twist of fate, it seemed, that the Woodpecker was to be killed by the Mockingbird. He found it amusing in a way, as he gazed on the waning sunlight. He began to sing softly, almost silently to himself.

"Woodpecker, woodpecker, pecking away at the trees… If you ever stop, you'll die…" He paced, humming the comforting tune as it came to him. "As you continue wounding the forest…"

He smiled. "You cry."

* * *

The Mockingbird returned to the place that had been serving as his home for the longest time since his control over Toto had begun. He discovered Shiro, in all her unholy glory, relaxing on a chair sitting before a large mirror.

He was at once stricken with how the scars on her skin entranced him, a form of hypnotism that he had never imagined. Even to himself he wondered where his pride over his creation ended and his love for this creature began.

"Shiro? What distracts you?" He had noticed, or at least assumed, that her gaze into the mirror was only a cover for the thoughts that raced behind her eyes. She turned at his words, a melancholy of sorts across her face.

"Ganta. Stop." The Mockingbird was confused, but knew from experience that Shiro was something that he could never truly understand. She seemed to see through him, as though he were not actually there. "But that's me. Pain given must be returned with pain."

The Mockingbird towards Shiro, who finally noticed his presence and regained focus. "Mockingbird… What is it?" He only sat down in a chair opposite her in response. "Why have you come here?" He found himself unable to answer the question.

He needed Shiro to kill Ganta. That much was certain. But why did he care for her? Why did such a human weakness infect him? It was so irrational.

"Shiro… what do you want most?" Shiro looked at him, tilting her head. "Many things. Shiro wants some things, and the Wretched Egg wants some things. What do I want?"

The Mockingbird again assumed that she was talking to herself. "But what do you want _most_?" Shiro again delayed in answering. "People must pay for their cruelty. I want to make them hurt. I want to see them in pain."

She returned to the mirror. "But I want something else. Pain isn't enough for me." Absentmindedly she stroked her hair with one hand as she continued. "There's something more than that. I want it."

The Mockingbird was still captivated by Shiro. In all her nascent ways she was the key to his plan of bringing judgement. It was beautiful, in a way. She was what he needed to get what he wanted. He needed _her_.

"Ganta knows. He knows what it is." The Mockingbird was taken out of his reverie at her words. Ganta was a pawn, a tool to be used. He was but a footstep on the journey to brilliance."

The Mockingbird felt compelled to speak his mind. "How can Ganta know this? What does he know that I do not?" Shiro simply shrugged. "I don't know."

Shiro then fell back onto the four poster bed next to her chair and closed her eyes. The Mockingbird again felt marveled at her beauty, something he had not expected to have seen in a creation such as her, but ultimately her words spoke to him more.

How could something like she suggested be possible? Ganta knew nothing of interest. Perhaps Shiro was simply using this to her advantage. Or better yet she was not enough of herself at the moment to fight the side of her that was Ganta's (and the Mockingbird felt a strong feeling of contempt at the word) _friend_.

It was mindboggling, maddening even. Why would anyone think to do such a thing?

It was just simply irrational.

* * *

So? What do you think?

Rate and review, or read it again.

Peace out!


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